


Il Mostro di Firenze et la sua stella

by erinather



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Beverly Katz Lives, Caring Hannibal Lecter, F/F, Firenze | Florence, Hannibal Lecter is a Cannibal, Il Mostro Hannibal, M/M, Someone Help Will Graham, Will Graham & Beverly Katz Friendship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-26
Updated: 2021-03-01
Packaged: 2021-03-16 19:41:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,123
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29705610
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/erinather/pseuds/erinather
Summary: circa 1990, Florence Italy. Will is studying abroad and Hannibal is doing his Il Mostro thing.
Relationships: Bella Crawford/Jack Crawford, Beverly Katz/Freddie Lounds, Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 2
Kudos: 42





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I realize that this is the 2nd college au I've written... which is weird because I actually hate college aus normally. But. Also, the frat one doesn't count. I don't know any Italian,,, like none. So if the translations are bad I'm very sorry.

A young man sits in a cramped desk, scribbling fervently as masses of students file out of a fairly large, dusty lecture hall. The man’s hair is dark and curly, pinned back with bobby pins to keep it out of his face. The top of his paper reads “Will Graham, Psychology, 8 am, Professor Ricci”, and he continues to write hastily, muttering what he’s copying down under his breath. Will tries not to be distracted by the bustle of the crowd, but he is failing miserably. He is hyper-aware of the conversations of the students around him, even in a language fairly foreign to him. He hears one girl speak,

“Si, l’ho visto baciare Bella. Non credo di piacergli.”  _ Yeah, I saw him kissing Bella. I don’t think he likes me.  _ Will thought to himself, unable to keep himself from translating the girl’s words. The girl’s friend responded,

“Chiara, no, Bella? Ha una ragazza.” Will hurriedly scrawls down more words, trying to focus.  _ Chiara, No way, Bella? She has a girlfriend,  _ he gives in finally, pondering the scandalous situation on Bella, and Chiara’s hands. He wants to know more but tries to ignore it as he writes. His hand is growing sweaty, and his pencil is nearly breaking. Finally, a small snap, and the lead of his pencil breaks. He had found it laying on the floor so he figured it was fair. Still, he was upset.

“God!” He yells, instantly regretting it as dozens of students turn to face him. He blushes, turning a deep red.

“Scusa, ah...um… scusa.” He speaks quietly, humiliated. Out of the crowd, he picks out one face in particular, a tall man in a suit, his straight hair styled back. His face is not embarrassed for him, but concerned, even angry. Will realizes he has been locking eye contact with the man, and quickly looks away, blushing. The man smirks, and Will begins panicking as he realizes he is approaching him. He lifts his books, attempting to hide his face, however foolish it is. The tall man stands in front of Will, clothed in a two-piece suit and a maroon sweater. He leans against the wall near Will’s desk.

“Ciao. You’re American, yes?” He speaks with a heavy accent, not Italian, not French… Will continues to struggle to pinpoint the accent, realizing he’s not yet responded.

“Oh uh yes. Sorry. I get wrapped up in my thoughts really easily,” he says, scratching his head, “You’re um… hm let me think. Not Danish, seems like it but not quite. Lithuanian?” He says at last. The man offers an impressed smile, and hands Will a small note card with his name and number written on it.

“I must admit I am impressed. Not many people have guessed it. Call me?” He says, chuckling softly, as he walks out of the classroom. Will sits there, shocked.  _ He just gave me his number. Me?  _ He thinks, zoning out.

“Hey! Vattene devo, pulire il posto!”  _ Hey! Get out of here, I’ve gotta clean the place! _ Hollered a man in a green polo shirt, wheeling a cart of cleaning supplies. A pop song plays softly from a walkman in the man’s pocket. Will picks out the lyrics as he nears the door, a wooden arch made of dark wood.

  
  
  


_ Non vivo più senza te, anche se, anche se _

_ Con la vacanza in Salento prendo tempo dentro me _

_ Non vivo più senza te, anche se, anche se _

_ Una signora per bene ignora le mie lacrime _

_ E le mie mani, le mie mani, le mie mani van su _

_ Ma la sua bocca, la sua bocca punta sempre più a sud _

_ E la mia testa, la mia testa, la mia testa fa _

_ No, signora, no (Mi piaci) _

_ No, signora, no (Mi piaci) _

_ No, signora, no (Ti prego) _

_ No, signora, no _

  
  


Will hikes his backpack up, smiling to himself as he walks down an open corridor, to his left is a brick wall, past which lies the hall he was just in. To his right are cobbled brick arches, open to the outdoors. Past the arches is a courtyard, a bubbling fountain sitting at the center. Will cuts through the grass, waving to a young woman on the other side of the yard. She waves back, being careful not to spill the beverages she’s clutching. She wears a loose graphic t-shirt and a pair of jeans.

“Hey Will!” She calls to him, lowering her voice once he gets closer, 

“Or should I say ciao?” She teases. Will rolls his eyes.

“Hey Beverly. That for me?” He asks, pointing to a 2nd cup in Beverly’s hands. She smiles,

“Nope. Got two for myself,” Will frowns, but knows she’s kidding.

“Only joking. Here.” Will accepts it gratefully, pocketing the notecard. Beverly spots it, instantly grinning with excitement.

“Hold on, not so fast. What was that? Let me see.” She beams, giggling as she snatches the card from Will. 

“Hannibal Lecter. Weird name, but hey, I’m sure he’s nice.” She says, handing the card back to Will. Will begins,

“Oh god, yeah. He was totally charming. It was crazy, I’ve never been asked out so… confidently before.” Beverly giggles, sipping on her coffee. Will flips the card around in his hand, admiring Hannibal’s neat signature.  _ This man.  _ He thought, spotting a small drawing of a heart in the corner of the card. Beverly leans over his shoulder, picking up on the heart as well. 

“That’s sweet. You’re in good hands, I’m sure,” She continues,

“And you’re not the only one with some romantic whims.”

“Oh?” Will replies. Beverly sits him down on a bench, and begins to tell her story,

“So I’m sitting in my biology class, right?” Will nods.

“And this girl comes in- she has the prettiest curly red hair by the way. Anyways, she pulls me out of the class, tells me she’s interviewing a bunch of well-dressed students here. Which surprised me, because I wouldn’t exactly call myself ‘well-dressed’,” 

“Yeah, definitely not.” Will interrupts. Beverly punches him lightly, and continues,

“As I was saying, she basically just kept going on about how I was really pretty and that she loved my outfits, and at the end of the interview she took my picture and said I looked really cute. That’s flirting, right?” Beverly ends, questioning Will.

“If that’s not flirting, I don’t know what is.” He says, patting Beverly on the shoulder. She smiles.

“So Is she American too?” He asks.

“Yeah. Her name is Freddie. I think I’m gonna ask her to lunch tomorrow.” She says nervously, twiddling her thumbs. Her hair is pinned back in a low messy bun, her ears adorned with long dangly earrings. Will smiles at her,

“You should. It sounds like she likes you.” Beverly smiles wide, and hugs Will.

“You’re the best,” she says, getting up to leave, “I’ve gotta go, see you!” 

Will sits on the concrete bench, thinking about the endearing man from earlier.  _ He’s too perfect,  _ he thinks, remembering his creaseless dress pants and completely lint-free red sweater. Will is wearing a plain white t-shirt and a pair of light wash jeans, both of which he fell asleep in last night. He’s a bit sweaty, very unorganized, and overall imperfect. A stark contrast from Hannibal Lecter. Exasperated, Will stands up and walks out of the courtyard and into a narrow street. He is surrounded by tall, thin buildings, with terraces and windows jutting out above him. The sun is out, filtering over the tall roofs of the buildings, presumably apartments. The air smells of spring, dew, and rushing water. Will walks down the brick road for a couple of blocks, passing a grand Cathedral. His feet are growing tired in the gladiator-style sandals he hurriedly slipped on earlier this morning, but he trudges on. He walks past a block of buildings, the afternoon sun peeking its head out from behind them. To his right is the sun, below which he can see all the way to the Arno River. He stops in his tracks, filling up with a sense of panic.  _ Shit.  _ He thinks, remembering he had another class after his 8 am psychology lecture. He had walked at least 45 minutes and had definitely missed at least half of his 10 am. There was no use going back now, it’d be long over by the time he got back on campus. He sighs, and turns down the street, facing the sun. He winces in the light, covering his eyes with his hand as he walks down the road. This road leads to his apartment, it’s steep, narrow, and smells of cinnamon from a food stand parked nearby. Will jiggles the doorknob of a beige door, trying to open it, with little success. After struggling with the knob for a minute longer, the door swings open, and he sighs in relief.  _ At least “Il Mostro” won’t be able to break in,  _ he thinks to himself, amused. 

20 minutes earlier

Hannibal turns down a steep narrow street, stumbling a bit from the awkward angle of the ground. He finds himself in front of a beige door and slips a lock pick into the keyhole, opening it with ease. He puts his hands in his pockets, walking into the small apartment. He is met with an incredibly stuffy, dusty room. He sneezes lightly and opens the blinds in Will’s kitchen, light streaming inside. He attempts to pry open the windows, but they’re stuck. He strains, trying to pull them open. At last, the window creaks open, letting in a light breeze. He breathes in the fresh air and inspects the apartment one final time before leaving the way he came.

Present 

Stepping into his apartment, Will notices the air feels lighter. He looks across the room, noticing an open window. He whistles, and a small dog arfs from another part of the apartment. Will hears excited paws scurry against the floor and a little dog emerges, running toward him. He smiles wide, and speaks to the dog,

“Hey, Winston!” He scratches the dog’s head and walks into the kitchen, grabbing a can of chicken noodle soup. He opens a cabinet,  _ Wrong one. _ He opens another, and another, and another until he finds the pots and pans. Will retrieves a pot and turns around to walk toward the stove, but is interrupted by an open cabinet door in his face. 

“Ow!” He exclaims, closing all the cabinets in frustration. 

By the time the sun radiates a warm orange color, illuminating Will’s kitchen, Will is asleep, his face glued to a little table. He grumbles, peeling his face off the aluminum table, his face red and his eyes puffy. He checks the time, hobbling away from sleeping in an awkward position.  _ 6:08 _ , he observes. Will ponders going back to sleep on his bed, but decides he’d like to look good tomorrow. For reasons unrelated to Hannibal of course.

Hannibal etches the last sentence of his psychology essay, ending it with a flourish of his pen. His handwriting is curved and long, his i dots and t bars evenly and carefully placed. It is nearly perfectly vertical. He slides the paper gently into a cardstock folder and puts it in his backpack, he needed to be sure he remembered it tomorrow. He stands and stretches, he had been writing for hours. His stretch is interrupted by the shrill ring of a phone on the wall. 

“Pronto,” he speaks, “Ah, Will. I am glad you called. Just on time too, I have just finished the psychology paper due tomorrow.” He says, grinning ear to ear at the sound of Will’s voice. 

_ “Oh god. The paper. I still have to do that.”  _ Will replies from the other end of the phone. Hannibal smirks and continues,

“I’d love to have you over, Will. We could have a study session.” Will smiles brightly, eagerly responding,

_ “That would be great. I’ll be over in 30?”  _ Hannibal checks his watch,

“Yes. See you then Will.”


	2. Papers and Pencils

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> hannibal and will study together.

Will scrambles to the shower, quickly shampooing his hair. He dries off, rushing to get ready. He throws on a white t-shirt, on it is a picture of a red-haired woman, the words “Fiorella Mannoia” surrounding the image. He stumbles out of his apartment, putting on a pair of dark brown oxfords. Chilled by a sudden breeze, he reaches back into the apartment and retrieves a brown coat, sliding his arms through the sleeves and adjusting it on his shoulders. He climbs onto his bicycle, the handlebars are wrapped in white tape, and the wheels are a greyish-taupe color, although they used to be white. He cycles along the Arno, offering a polite smile to a pedestrian every once in a while. He turns onto a red brick bridge, his bike bouncing up and down from the uneven cobbled road. It smooths out as he exits the bridge onto a shaded path, breathing in the fresh spring air, he sighs, smiling softly. Will leans his bike against a lamppost, swinging his bike lock around the metal, he locks it.

He walks up to a red door and wipes his hands off on his jacket before knocking, as they had become sweaty in his nervousness. A man opens the door, who he recognizes as Hannibal Lecter. He’s wearing a grey sweater and black dress pants, Will is relieved to know he isn’t horribly underdressed. 

“Hello Will. I really should have driven to you, given the Il Mostro situation.” He says, smiling gently as he opens his arms to welcome Will inside. 

“Don’t worry about it! I was biking anyhow, I doubt Il Mostro can run that fast,” he replies, entering the building. Hannibal walks with him, leading him to a little room with a desk and a couple of chairs. 

“I did track in high school,” speaks Hannibal, smirking at Will.

“Speaking of running.” He clarifies, offering to take Will’s coat. Will hands him the dark coat, smoothing out any creases in his t-shirt. Will replies,

“Oh nice, I was a swimmer myself, I don’t really have the stamina for running.” Hannibal looks him over,

“So you are a fan of Ms. Mannoia?” He questions, referencing the woman on his t-shirt. Will blushes a little, blurting,

“Oh no not really. It’s my friend’s shirt.” This was a lie, and Hannibal could tell of course. Since arriving in Florence, Will had attended 2 of her concerts, though he didn’t admit this to Hannibal. Hannibal hangs Will’s coat on the door, responding,

“A shame. I quite enjoy her music.” He hands Will a pen and paper, pulling up a chair to the other end of the desk. Will sits, facing Hannibal. From where he’s sitting, the setting sun splays across his face. 

“Yeah, her stuff is pretty good. I’ve actually been to a couple of her concerts, but I don’t usually tell anyone that.” Will replies. Hannibal grins, chuckling softly. 

“No need to hide it from me.  You look beautiful today, the sun plays in your eyes nicely. Like sunlight reflecting in water. Peaceful, tranquil,” Speaks Hannibal, admiring Will’s shocked smile. Will collects himself, replying,

“ You're such a charmer. You know you look like you were carved from marble?” Hannibal meets his eyes, and Will doesn’t break their contact like he normally would.

“I've never been told so, no. To hear it from you has made all my days brighter,” Hannibal says, holding eye contact with Will. Will’s heart pounds, his face flushing red. 

“Can I kiss you?” He speaks, his face growing hot and his hands getting sweatier than ever. “Oh my god, I’m sorry. Too fast.” Hannibal beams, amused, he speaks,

“Don’t apologize. Do you want me to kiss you?” Will nods ardently, his curls bouncing around his ears. Reaching over the desk, Hannibal cups Will’s cheek and presses a soft kiss to his lips. Hannibal smiles through the kiss, his teeth pressed against Will’s mouth. 

“I-I should probably try to focus on this paper, if I can,” Will tells him, looking straight into his brown eyes. Hannibal nods, brushing a long strand of Will’s hair and tucking it behind his ear. No matter how much he wants to, Will can’t bring himself to break eye contact with Hannibal. He stares into his eyes, admiring the flecks of mahogany.

“I think I’m blushing really bad,” Will murmurs, red-faced. Hannibal eyes him, smirking smugly he says,

“That you are. I like making you blush.” Will giggles, completely enchanted by the man’s words. Smiling, he replies,

“You’re such a flirt. I’m not very experienced in that field.” Hannibal grins, admiring Will’s smile in the dying light. He watches Will’s hair fall back into his face before responding,

“ If telling you how wonderful I find you is an art, consider me learning each and every nuance as to what makes you smile. Experience is not required, I quite prefer your honesty. The sunlight catches in your hair so I can see every fine curl. I will sketch this moment someday, if you would allow me.” Will leans over the desk, resting his chin on his palm. 

“You’re an artist then?” He asks, chewing on his lip. 

“Yes, you could say that. I dabble in many mediums, some much more… inconveniencing than others.” Will tilted his head, a bit confused at Hannibal’s strange way of describing his artistic endeavors. He pauses and replies,

“Cool. I usually use acrylics or charcoal, even though charcoal gets all over my clothes.” Hannibal sips on a glass of water, holding eye contact with Will over the rim of the glass. He pulls out a robust textbook labeled “Psicologia”, opening it to a bookmarked chapter. 

“Understandable, my favorite medium often gets all over my clothing.” He retrieves a piece of paper, continuing, he says,

“Achilles lamenting the death of Patroclus. I think of it often.” Will leans over the desk, examining the sketch.

“You’re very skilled. That story interests me very much,” He speaks, admiring the graphite drawing. Hannibal smiles, responding,

“Thank you. It is a craft I hope to continue throughout life. The steady hands will help in detailed paintings someday I imagine.” Will smirks and speaks,

“And other things.” Will claps a hand to his mouth, his fading blush resurging in an instant. Hannibal chuckles.

“Oh my god, I’m sorry,” Will exclaims, “I didn’t mean to say that out loud,” he speaks, nearly tearing up in embarrassment. Hannibal tucks a stray strand of hair behind Will’s ear, admiring the petrified look on his face. 

“I enjoy your lack of a filter immensely. Is that where our night will lead?” He questions. Collecting himself, Will replies,

“Maybe not tonight, since I have to finish that paper.” Hannibal nods, and the pair untangle their interlocked fingers. Clearing his throat, Will reaches into his black and brown JanSport backpack, retrieving a blue binder. He flips it open, paging through to a blank page. His notes are scattered throughout the pages, he says he’ll rearrange them but never gets around to it. He rummages around in the bottom of the bag before finding a pencil. He holds it up, realizing it’s broken.

“Here, take this one,” says Hannibal, offering him a jaggedly sharpened pencil. The wood is carved with sharp edges, the graphite forming a fine point.  “ I learned recently that a scalpel cuts better points than a pencil sharpener,” Hannibal remarks, referring to the unorthodox pencil he handed Will. Will runs his fingers over the rough edges, his brows furrowed. He etches his name on the page with Hannibal’s pencil before addressing him,

“It’s really nice to write with, thanks.” Will looks up from his writing to meet eyes with Hannibal, smiling brightly. He returned the smile, tipping his head down to continue reading in the robust textbook in front of him. 

He sits in a wooden chair, it is squeaky and makes occasional creaking noises. Hannibal is leaned back, his face buried in his textbook, Will can see only the top of his head peeking over the book. Hannibal lowers the book, staring up at Will through his eyelashes. Will is unaware, hurriedly scrawling words onto paper. Hannibal laughs silently, admiring the way that Will’s hair falls in his face as he’s bent over his work. Hannibal looks back to his book, spacing out in between the words more than he is reading them. Minutes go by, then hours, the two of them sitting in silence, simply enjoying each other’s company, enjoying being near another body. Sometime after the first half-hour, Hannibal switched on the radio. A gentle violin concerto has been playing since. Will yawns, resting his head on the desk with a thud.

“I did it.” He says, sitting up to speak to Hannibal. He reaches his arm out, placing his hand on top of Hannibal’s open book. Hannibal lowers the book, still on the page he was hours earlier. Will adjusts his glasses, admiring Hannibal’s blue eyes. Will sets his hand on top of Hannibal’s, gently caressing it with his thumb. 

“I know I just met you,” he says, “but I feel… a connection, it feels like I’ve known you for years. My apologies if that’s too forward.” Hannibal grasps Will’s hand, looking straight into his eyes, he speaks,

“ I feel the same connection. Perhaps in our past lives, and to be indulgent, I hope this one and each and every future one as well.” Will turns scarlet, taking his hands off Hannibal’s. Hannibal tilts his head. 

“I hope I have not made you uncomfortable,” he mutters, scratching the back of his head. Will reassures him, 

“Oh no, of course not,” he continues, “I just get really sweaty hands when I’m nervous.” Hannibal looks relieved, he responds,

“I would make a terrible surgeon if I couldn't even get past sweat. Don't worry, you will have to do far worse to appall me.”

“Surgeon? I knew it,” replies Will, grinning ear to ear. Hannibal raises an eyebrow,

“Oh? Enlighten me,” he questions. 

“Well, I just figured as much. I’m a criminal psychology major, I suppose it’s what I do,” Will replies, crossing his legs and leaning over the desk, resting his chin on his palms. Hannibal smirks, ready to make Will blush again.

“I believe I can safely assume that it is my face you are reading, and not the paper posted behind me, as you would like to have me believe.” Will chews his lip, blushing furiously as Hannibal hoped he would. 

“How- how did you know I would use that as an excuse?” Will asks, attempting to hide his face behind his hand, with little success. “I guess I’m not the only one with a knack for profiling, huh?” he continues, fiddling with his t-shirt. 

“It seems not. It is getting late, I’d hate to send you home with danger about. You are welcome to stay if you would like.” Hannibal says, offering a warm smile and kind eyes to Will, who accepts them gratefully, and returns the same expression.

“I would love to stay if you’ll have me,” he says, looking into his eyes as if they were metal and his were magnets, constantly pulled to them, like a ship to a whirlpool. Hannibal nods. He offers him a blanket, and Will accepts it.

“Would you like to share a bed?” Hannibal asks. Will nods, and the pair settle down to sleep. Will is out in 5 minutes, exhausted from writing so intensely. 

Will wakes to a sun-filled room, the smell of breakfast wafting into the bedroom from the kitchen. The windows are cracked open, sheer curtains dancing in the breeze. He kicks off the blankets, finding his way to the kitchen. In front of a large window, a young blonde woman sits at a little wooden table, eating an omelet. She turns her head to greet Will, setting down her fork as Will outstretches his hand.

“Hi, I’m Bedelia, Hannibal’s roommate,” she says, shaking Will’s hand with a firm grip. She wears a blue sweater and a pleated white skirt that reaches just below her knees. Will releases his grip, responding,

“I’m Will, it’s good to meet you.” Bedelia adjusts her ponytail, standing up and pushing in her chair with her hip, her hands occupied. 

“It’s nice to meet you too, but I’ve gotta run. Don’t… do anything anywhere I visit regularly, please and thank you. See you Hannibal.” She says, rushing towards the door with her backpack slung over her shoulder. Hannibal laughs silently, flipping over a piece of bacon. 

“You’re sure you don’t want a piece of bacon?” Hannibal asks her. She rolls her eyes, drumming her fingers on the door frame before leaving and yelling from the hall,

“I’m absolutely sure!” 


End file.
